Paradigm Shift
by Shaye Vespertine
Summary: AU.He'd gone pale as he listened to her and felt his own heart squeeze in fear and pain because his instincts told him that, should he step wrongly, he would lose her for ever."Is that what you've been thinking all this time? That you're about to die?"


**A.N: I don't own any of the characters featured in the ASHES TO ASHES show, which is owned by KUDOS and BBC WALES, so no sueing. Read and review.**

**_WARNING: VERY MATURE CONTENT AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. BE WARNED!!_**

**PARADIGM SHIFT**

The rain pounded restlessly against the window and it synchronised perfectly with the howling of the wind.

She couldn't sleep.

She'd been lying there, wide awake for over an hour, and sleep did not feel remotely close.

With a heavy sigh, she quietly got out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, careful not to wake him.

In the kitchen she turned on the lights and immediately went for the fridge, in search of the only ingredient that helped her sleep at these times, and always had ever since she'd been a little girl.

The milk had gone sour and she threw the carton into the rubbish with disappointment; what was she supposed to do now?

In the end she opted for a chamomile, in the vain hopes that it would relax her body so much it would be tricked into falling asleep, so she could finally rest her weary mind. The chamomile warmed her as she swallowed, but it seemed like it might take a while for the relaxing effect to kick in, because, if anything, she now felt even more alert. She sat on a stool at the breakfast area in the middle of the unfamiliar kitchen and rested her head onto her hands. She was in deep reflection, her brain now constantly working to piece yet another puzzle together, despite knowing that it was best if she didn't try very hard, and just let things progress gradually. Yet she'd been in two fantasy worlds for so long that her rampant need to know what reality was and what was hallucination could not be quelled.

She stared into the hazy steam raised by the hot chamomile, idly picking out patterns here and there, quite disconnected from the rest of the world.

So distracted was she, that she didn't even hear him coming into the kitchen, only to linger hesitantly in the doorway for a second.

His gaze roved over her, as though he was reassuring himself that she was there with him, alive and alert, at last, and he felt an overwhelming sense of relief once more. Seeing her in the kitchen, their kitchen, tranquilly sat on a stool drinking tea, was a sight he'd thought he'd never see again. He felt profoundly glad and silently thanked whatever force had brought her out of the coma, and back to him.

She didn't notice his presence, didn't perceive that she was no longer alone – didn't even see him out of the corner of her eye. She felt dazed and tired, yet disturbingly calm despite having stepped out of a mad world and into another, and her mind was idly floating on a plane all on its own, effectively cutting her away from the rest of the world.

She did, however, feel the warm hand that suddenly rested on her exposed shoulder; she did feel the strong fingers that fleetingly caressed her skin.

She couldn't help her reaction when it came, strangely immediately despite the fact that her mind had up until then been travelling very fast, miles away from here.

With a startled shriek, she jumped and reflexively brought a hand up to protect her face.

"It's all right, Alex, It's only me."

She stared at him with wide eyes, her face betraying her upset state of mind and he stepped closer, wanting to comfort and reassure her.

It hurt him beyond words, when, as a reflex, she immediately took a step back away from him, her eyes eyeing him warily as though he was about to attack her. He sought to find the strength necessary to not growl in impatience, to avoid sighing in disappointment. He had to be very, very careful and gentle with her, because she still wasn't right, she was not the Alex he knew so well, not yet. The doctor had told him she would suffer from memory loss, and though this might change, it also might not, and it was important that she remember things on her own, at her own pace (if she ever did) – forcing her to recall things might be traumatic for her mind after it has shut down and gone into a coma for four and a half solid months. He didn't like it, but he vowed that if that's what it took for him and Molly to have her back, then he would, somewhere along the line, find the patience and the strength necessary to do it.

She was still physically standing several feet away from him, her eyes guarded yet alertly assessing the situation – they were DI Drake's eyes, not his Alex's eyes, or even Bolly's.

He fought to stay calm.

Though she was still in the same room with him, no more than a few feet away, she may as well be all the way in Edinburgh; so far removed from him he could barely detect her presence. His breath hitched in his chest and the effort it took him to breathe in and out, slowly, was almost all that he could do. He felt so helpless; he felt so bereft of her presence, as though, despite her awakening, she hadn't come back to him, not really. She seemed to wander down a road he couldn't even see, away, far away from him, where he couldn't follow her, where he was unable to protect her.

He forced his voice to sound even and his movements to conceal his state of mind as he, deliberately slowly, took a seat next to the one she had just vacated.

When he spoke, his voice did not indicate that there might be anything particularly wrong, and he felt grimly proud for that achievement.

"Trouble sleeping?"

She did not speak, merely nodded, her eyes looking down at the floor as though intrigued by the patterns made by the cold tiles.

He slid his gaze away from her and looked at the clock on the opposite wall, suppressing a sigh. It was almost three o'clock in the morning, a time where honest people should be asleep. For the two of them, it was a time to sit in the kitchen, gazing sightlessly anywhere but at each other. He did not feel bitter about that: this surprised him. Maybe he was coming to terms with the situation more quickly than he anticipated, and was beginning to get to grips with how to help her.

He watched as she sighed and made her way back to the stool to resume her place, their arms almost touching. She extended a firm hand towards her mug and brought it to her lips, sipping at the still hot liquid, her eyes looking at the wall in front of her. She then set the mug back down and rested her head onto one hand, her elbow on the counter, and this time she was inquisitively looking at him, as though she found him to be a curious sight. It could be so easy, he thought, to just slide closer to her, and do nothing but touch her arm, her shoulder, to hold her hand. He needed the physical contact. He craved feeling her warm, soft skin under his hands, to reassure himself she was really there in the flesh, not merely in dreams, as she had been for those horrifyingly difficult months. He knew that if he did that, he would certainly send her packing, so he fought to control the impulse, his fist clenched tightly on his thigh. He had to let her come to him. He had to be patient. All that mattered was that she was alive and well (or as well as circumstances could allow), and that he and Molly had her back in their home, where she belonged.

She sighed. "The rain was driving me mad! The tree branches hitting the window-pane woke me up a while ago, and after I tried to go back to sleep and failed, I came here." It was simple and reasonable. For him, it wasn't good enough. His mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though he wasn't angry, not just yet.

"Why didn't you wake me?" his voice was even, if somewhat gruff but his gaze was steady as they looked at each other. She broke the gaze first and started playing with the lace on her pyjama top.

"I didn't see the point in waking you up, just because I found it difficult to get to sleep. There's no need for both of us to be sat here at three am, having this conversation, this is not your problem."

Her voice was quite vehement, and he could almost see some of the old fire creep back into her eyes, as though she was invigorated with that special kind of strength again, that strength that he knew so well, and respected, and admired, and loved.

"Wrong, Bolly. It is my problem where you are concerned. If you can't sleep, you don't silently sneak out here, hoping to battle this on your own, you shake me 'ard enough, shout down me ear, and talk to me about it!" His eyes glittered like hard gems, his mood eloquently speaking for itself through his body language, though he had tried, at first, she conceded, to remain utterly calm.

Or, as calm as a man with his temper could ever possibly be. How well she knew that hot temper of his; she'd grown attuned to his moods when she'd tumbled in her fantasy-world of 1981, and this Gene was no different than the man she had met then.

"Look," she said, her voice coming out softly, but her eyes gazed into his firmly, though not quite challengingly, trying to get him to see her point of view and cooperate, "I understand that you feel … somehow responsible for my well-being and my safety, but I can assure you, Gene, that I am perfectly capable of – "

"Shut up!" The strength of his tone startled her into silence, but the look on his face was enough to make her keep it.

"What sort of rubbish are you talking about? Responsible?" he spat the word as though it was much filth in his mouth, "_Well-being_? I'm yer bleeding husband! It's my bloody job to make sure that you're all right and to be there for you whenever you feel like you need to talk to someone! You're supposed to come to me with your problems, not hide in 'ere like a common thief!"

His voice was raised to levels she had been familiar with, in the other world, so she was easily accustomed to him being like this, and usually had known how to handle him. The only difference now was that he was no longer merely her boss … he was her husband! She felt deeply out of place, out of context, out of … time.

"Gene, please don't be like that! I – I know that this … is _hard_ for you – "

He sneered as though he found her words very contemptible.

"Bloody hard, she says … you've got no shitty idea of just how hard it's been around here since your … since you were put into hospital. Molly was sat right there eating her tea, talking about the party we were all going to have, just the three of us. Evan had already left, so it was just me and her. At first we didn't think much of you being late, but when it got past 8 o'clock, and you still weren't answering your phone, I started worrying. I called into the office; nobody had seen you since you left to pick up Molly from school."

His voice took on a bitter, haunted edge that sent shivers down her spine, and she unconsciously rubbed at her arms, in a bid to keep warm, the chamomile by now laying completely forgotten.

His eyes no longer focused on her, rather on a far-away point which was invisible to her … but was real enough for him.

He stared down at his hands, and the bitterness, the sheer worry and tiredness and anxiety that he must have felt showed up, and she could not draw her eyes away from his face, completely mesmerised by the emotion in it.

"I can still remember the exact moment when that bloody phone call came in from the department. Molly was trying not to look like she minded too much about her birthday being ruined, and I was quite er … pissed off with you, for doing this to her, for ruining her special night, cuz you know, she's – she might as well be my own." His tone was gruff, but the tenderness and obvious care he held for Molly simply astounded her.

"She was really looking forward to blowing out the candles on that cake. She said it was all the more special because the both of you had baked it, and although she was quite distracted with all the gifts she got, she kept asking me, again and again, when you were coming home. I had nothing to tell her, because I didn't know where you were."

His eyes darkened once more and his mouth set into a bitter edge; he was completely immersed in the story, and she marvelled once more at just how … open he seemed to be, with her, especially with such personal, painful stuff as this. She still remembered his 1981 construct telling her at Luigi's that Gene Genie did get lonely sometimes, and that if she repeated it to anyone, he'd have to stamp on her pretty little head …

"She'd gone upstairs to put her books away, and jump into her jammies … whilst she was upstairs, the doorbell rang. As soon as I saw your car, I started shouting before I even opened the door… you know what I'm like."

That last sentence had sounded so deliciously intimate, it was all she could do to not tremble and simultaneously draw back as far away from him as she could and start running for the hills, avoiding his swinging arm swerving out to catch hers just as soon as she vacated the stool.

"It didn't take very long to spot the police cars in the driveway, Bolly; I think whoever I was talking to was probably deeply put off by my dulcet tones screaming down their ear and would have probably knocked me in the chops if it wasn't such bloody … lovely news."

His mouth turned into the bitter-mocking twist she knew so well, and she held her breath as soon as she saw it, anticipating that whatever was coming next, it was not going to be easy to hear … or to speak.

"The first thing they said to me was so much garbage, it made me think about police officers' efficiency at giving bad news. Ruddy useless kids! As soon as that bloke spoke I – I … I just froze."

He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking haggard and grim – that was something she had never seen in his 1981 construct. He carried on with his story, and minute by minute, his eyes lost some of that wonderful, hard, imposing light. Minute by minute, she was dragged down deeper and deeper into another terror-nightmare fantasy world, where she was sure she would not find her footing enough to stand, because that place was not where she belonged.

"He said, I'm sorry to disturb your evening, sir, but we have your wife here … I can't – I can't tell you how I felt at that one moment, Bolly."

His throat tightened and his voice broke slightly; he cleared his throat and now cast his eyes downwards – now he was the one who avoided looking at her.

"Next thing I know Ray's on the phone, calling from… where you were hurt, telling me to get there quickly, at the Harbour in front of the Millennium Dome."

_[FLASHBACK_

_Gene stared frozen over at the muted TV, the phone held lax in his hand. He gulped and tried to squash the sudden lump in his throat. He couldn't speak. He stared dumbfounded at the lights as they seemed to flicker on and off, and the walls of the lounge suddenly seemed to shake and tremble in front of his very eyes; he idly wandered if an earthquake had hit the area._

_He could hear Ray on the other end of the phone, still talking to him. It was like he was slowly rewinding backwards into time, and then suddenly halting and shooting fast forward, lunging and falling into a deep, deep ravine, and with each foot that he fell deeper into that place, the light faded away, more and more. With each foot deeper, he felt like he was losing himself into a nightmare that sucked him in, pulled the rug out from under his feet without his realising and now he was lying on the floor, the breath knocked out of him, his limbs frozen stiff by fear._

"_Sir? Sir? Mr Hunt, are you there?"_

_His mouth dried and he shook his head repeatedly; he felt like he was grasping at the rocky surfaces as he fell down the ravine, scrabbling to get a hold on something and stop falling hopelessly down, but the rock either eluded him or scratched him beyond a pain that was merely physical._

_He numbly held up the phone to his ear again but Ray had closed the conversation. The police office at the door was still speaking._

"…_under the circumstances. Perhaps it might be best if you sat down, what I'm about to tell you may be a shock for you, Mr. Hunt."_

"_I'm really, really sorry, sir, but I don't know how to say this. Your wife's had an … accident this afternoon, at around fifteen minutes past four…"_

_Gene spoke up without even realising he'd done it, interrupting the man staring at him with such pity in his eyes; he wanted to smash his face in and scratch those merciful eyes out…_

"_That's not possible, our daughter Molly was still with her, and she'd just met up with Evan to take Molly to get some ice cream…"_

_The police officer just stared at him sympathetically; Gene felt like bursting out into mad laughter, but for some reason, he was kept rooted to the sofa, completely silent, shell-shocked._

"_It must have been straight after DI Drake left your daughter and her godfather; according to our reconstruction of the events, the man, Leyton, had hidden in the backseat of her car and then commandeered her to the Docks. Your wife was otherwise unarmed and unable to defend herself; he had a gun, and he threatened her with it. When they got to the docks, Leyton took your wife to the sub-level, and although an official investigation needs to declare the facts, we think that … he erm, shot her after a few minutes. No one knows where he is, some passers-by heard the noise of the gunshots go off and alerted us…"_

_His heart stopped._

_His vision went blank, and his face felt carved out of heavy stone._

_In his mind's eye he could see flashes of Alex during various stages of their relationship. The time when they went on the London Eye and were too busy kissing each other to look down below, was the first of a procession of memories quickly flashing through his mind as it tried to digest the news. Her face lighting up as he turned up at her door one night, holding a large bouquet of flowers was next, with particular attention paid to her shy smile as she accepted them and let him inside … a picnic the two of them had with Molly at a park was by far the most vivid, Alex wearing a red summery dress that barely covered her calves...blood-red, floating with the breeze. Alex at their wedding day, the happiest of his life, and she was clinging to him as they walked out of the church, smiling dazzlingly at the guests, dancing in his arms, kissing him, looking at him shyly from beneath her lashes, her eyes gleaming with happiness, her laughter like chime bells shaken by the breeze…_

_Bolly._

_Kidnapped._

_Shot._

_Bolly kidnapped and shot._

_Bolly kidnapped and shot by a lunatic, Bolly, kidnap, defenceless, he had a gun, shot, shot, shotshotshotshotshotshot-_

_Gene snapped back to reality as each bit sunk in all the way home._

_His voice was a papery croak when he spoke._

"_Where is she? Where have they taken her?"_

"_As far as we know she was still alive when the ambulance took her away, and we know for a fact they were taking your wife to St. George's hospital – I'm sorry sir, I wish there was more we could tell you about your wife's conditions, but we don't know anything else."_

_By the time the police left, and Evan rushed to theirs to take care of Molly, Gene was already on his beloved Audi S5 tearing through the streets of London towards the hospital, though he didn't remember the drive there or what the nurses told him when he first arrived._

_The only thing he vividly remembered was sitting outside that theatre in the waiting room, smoking with renewed vigour despite the signs telling the public that smoking was not permitted inside the building. He sent the disapproving nurses a withering glare to and he was left alone after that, staring at that door as though he could somehow see through it and into the room within, where Alex lay, perhaps dying, and he was just sat out there, doing nothing and being useful to no one._

_When the surgeon came out after four and a half hours, his grim face sent Gene spiralling down into the darkest pit of despair he had ever known. Quickly interpreting the look in his face, the surgeon hurried to his side, speaking quietly and sombrely._

"_Are you related to DI Alex Drake, sir?"_

_Hunt's voice may as well have been doused with sawdust when he spoke. "She's my wife. Doctor what happened? How is she, when can I see her?"_

_The surgeon halted him by holding up his hands in a placatory gesture, clearly having dealt with a similar situation countless times before._

"_She took a bullet in her left lung and one on her head, though thankfully that last bullet did not make a lasting impact with the cranium, it was just a side shot that grazed her temple, but it was enough for it to be of very high concern. She was quite lucky in that regard because her shooter missed."_

" _We have managed to patch up her lung, but there is a 75 chance that she may not remain stable throughout the next 24 hours, in which case, she runs the risk of entering a coma. It is vital that we observe her status and progress. We have set her up in the ICU, which means that she will be constantly under vigilance, but I'm afraid visiting hours will have to be heavily restricted."_

_Gene stared at him, and he was unaware of the way his eyes crinkled up and spewed tears down his haggard, frantic face._

"_Is – is she going to pull through, doctor?"_

"_I'm sorry Mr. Hunt but I can't say for sure at this moment in time; everything depends on her progression throughout the next 24 hour; it is crucial that she pulls through without any hiccups along the way, for that length of time at the very least. After that I may be able to give you a fuller picture, but until then, all I can say is that she's suffered severe trauma and although stable, it was touch and go in there for a while. We are doing the best we can, Mr. Hunt, but if your wife pulls through, there 's a slimmer chance of a repercussion coma, which is exactly the kind of news we want to hear."_

_Then the surgeon politely excused himself, after promising to keep him updated, and Gene searched dazedly for the wing, looking distractedly at every door and every face, each step bringing him closer and closer to her…_

_[FLASHBACK_

His face mirrored the shadowy demons he'd fought with, on that night, and the next nights to come, for four and a half months, until she woke up at long last; now here she was, almost six months after she was shot, sitting in the kitchen of a house that she apparently shared with Gene, her husband, and her daughter Molly, which had never belonged to her. They must have bought the house when they got married, and got rid of her apartment.

"I don't really remember much about that night, Bolly. It was all a jumbled chaotic mess that I probably forgot for my own good. I think I spent half the rest of that night trying to convince the bloody nurses and your attending to just let me see you for a couple of minutes, but they wouldn't budge … some bloody nonsense about it being too soon after your surgery, and you were unconscious anyway, so it would be best to come back later … "

A harsh, bark-like laughter escaped his lips, his eyes so dark they looked like dull slate rather than the usual clear grey.

"…come back later, they said! I reckon they were just trying to cover up that they didn't know a pissing fact about what was going to happen to you, and that if they gave me a chance to see you, I might just decide to plonk myself down with you until you woke up."

"Anyway, they wouldn't let me see you, in a nutshell, so I came home. I honestly don't remember anything about the drive back home … it was like the city seethed with flashing lights out of the corner of my eye. It was very early, I don't really remember what time it was when I came home, I think it was sometime after five. Evan was sat here in the kitchen, but Molly was thankfully out of sight – he'd put her to bed hours earlier. I was thankful to him for that. I couldn't handle coming back to that empty house, after you'd just been shot and still weren't out of the woods and me not knowing anything, and have to deal with seeing Molly on top of everything else."

He turned to her and tried to smile, but it was very, very tight around the corners, and painfully bleak. A fist the size of a yam seemed to have caught her heart in its painful grasp, squeezing slowly in a bid to make it pop like a pricked balloon.

"Evan wasn't saying much, but he was … I think he understood without me telling him that something bad happened to you, and you were put in hospital for it … not very hard to figure that out, with our shitty line of work!"

Here she got the impression that he felt the slightest bit of contempt for Evan, which she found puzzling; it was almost as though he didn't trust him, which was completely ridiculous, of course.

He stared at her and something in his eyes changed; they seemed to reacquire the old glittering edge, and it was like watching the sun rise, that mesmerising light steadily rising up out of nowhere, filling the horizon. As he looked at her wide eyes, and soft, vulnerable mouth, he felt a dead weight drop in his stomach, and a wave of heat broke out across his body, as though it was caused by a sudden rise in temperature.

He had to dig his nails into his palm to stop himself from leaning closer and kiss her.

No. He wouldn't do that, it was a dangerous thing to do, a bad line of thought.

That's when he noticed she was lightly shivering, curling her arms close to her body, trying to keep warm. He took in her light, flimsy tank top and slouchy pants, noticed she was barefooted and rose up out of the stool.

It was almost four o'clock now, and he was mildly surprised that they'd spent almost an hour, talking – or as much talking as she got in, what with all his blubbering like a bleedin' Jessie. He cleared his throat in a bid to sound like he was back in control, and now his manner was brisk, but still uncharacteristically gentle.

"I think you should go to bed now, Bolly."

Her face turned slightly sulky, her pout reminding him uncannily of that of Molly's when she was told to do something that displeased her. He fought the urge to smile indulgently, he had to remain commanding and stern in the face of childish petulance. She needed to get some sleep. She looked far too frail, with the prominent purple shadows ringing the bottom of her eyes, her face pale. Despite the fact that she had woken up and couldn't go back to sleep an hour ago, she was more than ready to do so now, if the heaviness of her lids was anything to go by.

"I won't be able to get to sleep now, I'm too alert," she yawned, and her eyes looked even sleepier. But he would not accept it, not tonight. His need to feel close to her rose up in him again, but this time it went almost unchecked. He promised to himself he wouldn't do anything, he'd just make sure that if he rolled round, or reached out, she'd be lying there, warm and asleep and most definitely alive.

He silently reached out a hand and beckoned her with his eyes to take it. For a moment she challenged him with her own gaze, staring defiantly into his eyes, her mouth turned up slightly into a challenging sneer, but something made her give up almost immediately and with a tired sigh, she rose out of the stool and softly padded to him. Without breaking eye-contact she slowly raised her hand until their fingertips lightly grazed each other, a fleeting meeting of hummingbirds, before he clasped her cold hand into his strong one, and she complacently folded her fingers into his, letting him lead her back to their bedroom.

Getting into that bed was always a moment of high tension for her, for various reasons; she was afraid that if she went to sleep, when she woke up, she'd be in yet another crazy fantasy world, facing yet another set of mad circumstances, in another impossible time.

But she also feared what he would do if she got into that bed with him. After all, in this … place, they were married and he would expect her to sleep with him, which freaked her out completely and put the fear of sleeping there into her.

But she needn't have feared.

He gave her all the emotional space she needed, even if they were mere feet apart, both simultaneously trying to ignore the charged tension in the air. Maybe that was what disturbed her sleep, she thought; having him lie next to her, so close she could just reach out her arm and touch him, but not daring to.

She caught him peeking a few times when she got changed in the bedroom, but since she did not return his cheeky smile or his heated gaze, he quickly turned away and left her in peace.

She tried to make it work, she really did. And she could see that his effort to make this work was of monument size … but all she could see ahead of her was a long, long, dark tunnel with no light shining through signalling the way out. A trap.

As soon as she got under the covers she sneaked a peek at the man next to her, but he was partially turned away from her, though she doubted he was asleep. He probably realised that after that heart-felt, breath-hitching conversation they had in the kitchen, she wanted to be left alone, and he let her. The consideration he had been showing her all this time never failed to amaze her.

Her brain once again tried to do what it couldn't in the past months, to work this out, find a solution to the problem, go about solving it, and go home. What worried her most now, though, was that she wasn't sure exactly where home _was_ anymore. She didn't know if she was still trapped under those docks and Leyton had only just shot her and she was dying, or she had woken up from her supposed coma and had stumbled onto another fantasy world.

Although, she had to admit, this fantasy world was much, much better than the other one, her 1981 construct, and all the sweeter because Molly was there – though she was a much younger Molly.

She briefly wondered where Robert, Molly's father, might be right now, but didn't feel a pressing need to analyse that type of information, so her brain moved on.

She shifted into a better position, curling in upon herself and turned to stare once more at Gene. His breathing was deep and even, indicating that he was definitely asleep now. She felt tendrils of frustration creep at her because of her inability to sleep as easily as he did, but as she tiredly forced her mind to think some more, her body gradually relaxed and she closed her eyes for a second, her brows inadvertently smoothing into a peaceful line.

* * *

Sunlight poked at her eyes and she squinted with displeasure, trying to get away from the treacherous light that hurt her eyes, safely tucked away behind her lids, but it wasn't enough to block the bright sunlight that filtered through an open crack in the curtains.

Alex moaned and rolled over, her hand sweeping under her pillow, and her mouth set itself into a pout, an unconscious gesture of rebellion. She felt little things filter through to her nebulous mind, and though acknowledged, they didn't really make sense. The sunlight was bright, but the covers warm, far more inviting than the rest of the world. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped cheerily to each other. She stretched out, taking up as much room as she could, and instantly drew away when her warm limbs slid over cold sheets. She frowned, her eyes still closed. Tentatively, her hand reached out and glided over the planes of the bed space next to hers, coming up cold and strangely empty.

Alex cracked one eye open and immediately felt disappointed to find herself alone in the bed. She raised her head and scanned the room, realising it was already morning, and that, apart from herself, there was no one else. She frowned in mild confusion.

Why should she find that unexpected? There was a faint moue of distress on her sleepy face as she considered the facts, trying to get over the trauma of being awake when all she wanted to do was to roll over and go back to sleep. Bit by bit, her mind became more alert to her surroundings as she woke up. That's when she realised why she felt mildly confused (and upset) that the spot next to hers was empty.

Where was Gene?

She turned when she heard the door creak open, and felt a shy, involuntary smile tracing its way on her lips. Gene was gazing uncertainly into the room, obviously checking that she was still sleeping, but when he spotted her sitting up on the bed amidst tangled sheets, her mussed hair framing her face, his gaze softened and he walked fully inside, an amused semi-grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, his gaze assessing her indulgently.

She felt her heart speed up a couple of paces as she studied his facial expression, feeling cut off at the knees at the unexpected tenderness she saw there. She was used to dealing with Tyrannosaurus-Gene, the man with the prehistoric conceptions of society screaming at her, making lascivious comments about her, ordering her about. She was not used to this softened, somewhat younger version of the troglodyte she'd met in her 1981 fantasy-construct.

He walked confidently towards her then stopped at the foot of the bed, the smile on his face becoming more pronounced, his eyes lighting up with that amused quirkiness she was familiar with. When his steady appraisal reached her torso, she felt her cheeks bloom into a faint blush. When his eyes travelled up to her face again, he noticed the faint redness and smiled crookedly, his eyes now fairly luminous, as though the sight pleased him, but she suspected it went a bit beyond the obvious physicality of it. However, when their gazes met, and he saw the traces of her confusion and faint worry, he instantly became sombre and hesitantly drew nearer, moving deliberately slowly as to not startle her or make her feel overwhelmed.

Her heart rate kicked up again, and Alex silently chastised herself, feeling utterly ridiculous. Why was she acting like a little schoolgirl with her first romantic encounter?

Gene sat down on the bed, not too close to her to make her feel crowded, but it was her who drew closer, and for some reason, this pleased him, and he gave her a ghost of a smile. He also knew that this must be hell for her, not remembering anything about their life together outside the office, not remembering their wedding day and all the other important moments in their progressing relationship, but she tried, nonetheless, everyday, to make sense of things around her and reach logical conclusions. He felt affection expand in his heart at the thought.

Good old DI Drake, always trying to solve the puzzle.

That was how he must think of her now, because as far as she could remember, there was nothing else to their relationship. He thought she reassured herself that the fact that he lived with her and Molly in a house she pretended to know well, was just a temporary result of some freak circumstance, and the thought pained him.

But this wasn't about him, or about Molly, who was mercifully still at the age where such things would not have such a traumatic impact as they had on him.

And now, looking at Alex, sitting next to him on the bed, looking so lost and confused threatened to undo his resolve to keep things as smooth as possible for her. He extended his hand to take hers, but thought better of it and drew back.

"How are you feeling, this morning, Bolly? Did you sleep all right?"

She smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, fine."

She bit her lip, looking away guiltily then turned back to look at him. "I guess you were right, Gene. Talking to you did me some good last night. Next time it happens I won't wait for such a long time, I'll hammer at you to wake up straight away!"

Her eyes were alive with amusement. He smirked into her lovely face. "Always told ya I can be very good for you, if only you'd bloody let me." His voice sounded like it usually did when he barked orders at her and the rest of the team, and she unconsciously relaxed, finding the situation familiar. He noticed she definitely seemed happier this morning, and this made hope spring gently into his soul; perhaps, if they stuck together and kept working at it, things would sort themselves out in the end, and they could go back to being a family.

Then his eyes darkened once more and his mouth pulled into a grim line. He looked at Alex once more, and felt his resolve weaken once again. This was so bloody difficult, he silently seethed. How the hell was he supposed to talk to her properly if she couldn't even remember they were married? She only saw him as her boss right now, and until her memories came back (if they ever did, his sly mind added) he had to respect that there were huge limitations in a relationship between boss and subordinate – and that did not include such deep, intimate conversations. But she was his wife, his heart cried silently an struggled, but to no avail. His subordinate she may be, his wife she certainly was, but she only remembered the first part – to her, the latter was like it never happened.

He sighed and growled silently at himself, the vicious sound almost ripping out of his throat, but he managed to control himself – he had to, whilst she was still in the room. Once she left him and he was alone again, then, then he could break down and let go of all the pent up feelings rolled tightly into a painful ball inside him, only he hoped this happened sooner rather than later, because right now, he was threatening to explode – a timed bomb – and even last night he hadn't come this close. Maybe he was just tired.

After he had reassured himself that she had fallen asleep beside him he tried to let go of all the stress and the worry, the fear for his family, the constant driving need to have her closer, and the resulting frustration when he couldn't. it was tearing him up inside, but he could never tell her this.

It was supposed to be about her healing from her injuries, and then bit by bit piece her life back together, not about him becoming a raving loony!

"What is it, Gene?"

"Nothin'." He grumbled, his tone brisk, a clear sign for her not to push it. She heard it, recognised it, and understood, but she was driven to seek the answers now more than ever, to make sense of all this, so she forced herself to be steady, and to make it look like she wasn't pressuring him, or fishing for information.

"We've already had this conversation once today, Gene. If you have a problem, you can come to me and tell me about it, and it might make you feel better. It's just like you said, Gene! We talked last night, and afterwards I felt loads better and I managed to go to sleep! Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

He gruffly huffed at her words, frustration written clearly in every line of his haggard face.

"That's just it, though, Bolly. I bloody _can't_ tell you these things!"

Her face showed every bit of her surprise and consternation, and he sense she was mildly miffed at him for not coming clean.

"Well, why the hell not?! What was all that talk about you gave me last night in the kitchen, about me coming to you if I ever needed anything if you're not going to do the same? You said, and facts seem to confirm, that we're married, so this means that we should share things in an equal manner and try to work with each other! How is me telling you my problems but you keeping yours quiet going to help anything?!"

"Or," and now she was really getting worked up into one of her stupendous rages, the ones that made things visibly spark between the two of them, and she jabbed a finger on his chest for good measure, "is this part of a grand scheme of yours to know all mine so you can control me but not give anything back? Is that it? Huh, Gene? Are you trying to control me and tell me what to do and keeping all the power to yourself?"

By the time she'd finished ranting her chest was heaving and her eyes glittered daggers at him, her mouth set into a tight line of butt-clenched anger; she seethed inside and visibly restrained herself from carrying on any further.

Gene felt invigorated all of a sudden, found that match that set off the spark and set fire to it. He leaned closer and widened his eyes for full effect as he gave back as good as he got.

"That is not it, and you bloody well know it! D'you really think I'd be capable of playing some sick, twisted game on you, after all you've bloody been through in the past months?! AND FOR WHAT?"

His voice rose to a strangled roar, signalling that he, too, was working himself up into a rage, and steadily getting there.

"For some pissing mind game to have control over you?! I was just trying to'elp, and if I remember rightly, it bloody worked, too! No sooner had your pretty little head hit the pillow that you were shoving me and kicking me as you moved about in your sleep, like _bloody usual_!"

She quickly took a deep breath and, not to be outdone by him, pressed even closer and raised her voice to the fantastically loud ringing tones she was capable of and which always drove other people, especially him, mad, because, after all, she was not supposed to fight back, but she unfailingly always did.

"Then why won't you tell me what's on your mind?! Just spit it out, Hunt, go on, get it off your chest! After all, that's what I'm here for, isn't it? To play bloody Sven to your Trilby! Go on, damn it, humour me!"

"I BLOODY CAN'T TELL YOU! YOU KNOW WHAT-"

"BECAUSE YOU ARE KEEPING SECRETS FROM ME, YOU LYING, CHEATING, FILTHY, BACK-STABBING HULK OF A-"

"THE DOCTOR ORDERED ME NOT TO TELL YOU _ANYTHING THAT MIGHT UPSET YOU AND SET YOUR FUCKING CONVALESCENCE MILES BACK FROM WHERE IT IS NOW!"_

Alex stared at him, her mouth wide open though not a sound came out, as though she had prepared herself to lash back, then heard the whole thing, and thought better of it.

Like always, they worked themselves up in the shouting matches until they got to the throat-burning loud roars and screams, their veins popping in their heads, before one of them said something and match was suddenly over, both of them quieting down, tense, but waiting until the other made the first move. At least she could breathe a part-sign of relief. Now that the shouting match was over, so was the worst of their argument. But she would not let him have the last word, no matter which particular construct he may be right now.

"The doctor was wrong, he shouldn't have told you that. I am perfectly capable of handling things if I just know exactly what's going on, contrary to what he made you believe! Can't you see? It's not telling me things that will never let me figure it all out. To complete the puzzle, you have to have all the pieces, even if it hurts your eyes to look at some of them. I need to know what's going on to believe that this is even half-way real, Gene, not just some crazy fantasy created by my mind!"

Her voice betrayed the deep pain and fear that burrowed down and were slowly eating at her soul.

"Ever since he shot me, I've been living in these fantasy construct worlds, and now I don't know what the reality is any more, Gene. If you don't tell me everything I need to know, how can I believe that this … whole reality isn't a fake? How can I believe that this is not just my mind making connections as it's shutting down because I'm dying, and what seems to me like months is in fact mere seconds, mere seconds after he shot me, mere seconds away from life, or mere seconds away from death?"

He'd gone pale as he listened to her pouring her heart out, and felt his own squeeze in fear and pain, because his instincts told him that, should he step wrongly, he would lose her for ever.

"I didn't – is that what you've been thinking, all this time? That you're about to _die_?" The blatant pain and horror were evident for her to hear, even though his voice had quietened down to a mere whisper; he sounded sick, like the very thought was revolting and made him ill.

She couldn't look at him now, because in a nutshell, yes, she had been thinking exactly that all this time, worrying herself sick that she wouldn't be able to go back to Molly, meanwhile hurting everyday because of her contact with Caroline and everyone else in that particular year, mere months away from her parents' death, constantly working tirelessly to figure out a way back, to figure out what was happening to her…

Sensing weakness, his instinct screamed at him that he'd hit the jackpot. She didn't look at him and made as though to get up from the bed, but his arm shot out and restrained hers – he wouldn't let her run and hide again, in that place where he couldn't reach her.

"Bolly, look at me. Come on," he bent his head and forced himself in her line of vision, and his eyes trapped hers in an eloquent stare, "look at me, say it again. Have you been thinking that none of this is real and that you're one second away from life, or one second away from death, after you've only just been shot? You think that all of this, me, you, Molly … this is all fantasy?"

She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let her, now solely driven by an urgent need to settle this once and for all, and give her the safety, the truth she so badly craved. His fingers relaxed their hold on her sore flesh, changing from hard manacles to yielding bracelets, the rough, strong fingers massaging the area of hurt they'd caused, but psychologically, they played a wholly different tune for her. She instantly felt like he was reeling her in, that she was the catch of the day, _his catch_, and that no matter how hard she tried, she would not escape this. All the fight left her body and he instantly took advantage of this to run a hand through her hair, gently forcing her head up so he could look at her.

"Is this real, Bolly? You and me, right here, right now, exactly where we are. Are you just imagining this, or do you think it may be real?"

Her broken whisper reached his ears, and then she choked, gulping down the sobs that threatened to break out of her.

"I don't know. I – I don't know. I don't know, I can't tell, I can't tell reality from fantasy any more, I don't know what's real or what's constructed by my mind, I don't know where I'm supposed to be, I don't know where home is anymore. I don't know anymore, I don't know!"

She burst out crying and her body convulsed with the heaving sobs that rattled out of her. Gene enfolded her tightly into his arms and gently shushed her, rocking them backwards and forwards in a soothing movement, cradling her fragile body into his strong embrace. His chin rested on her shoulder and he leaned his head up close to hers as she shook with the power of her crying, sobs convulsing out of her again and again, and he could feel her tears wetting his skin, hear her ribcage rattle as she gasped for breath and a break from the spell, but it was to no avail, and she continued crying.

Gene dragged her even closer and now she was resting entirely on his lap, folded into his arms, her head hidden as she sobbed and heaved against his shoulder, her fingers digging into his chest as they scrabbled in purchase to bring herself even closer, as though she wanted to melt into him. He continued rocking them both, one hand against her head, the other holding her against him, like he would an infant, and made shushing noises, quietly murmuring soft words to make her stop crying.

The loud sobs and gulps that were rendered from her tore him apart, but he sunk his own pain deep inside, because he didn't matter now, not any more, not since his Alex was in so much pain of her own he hadn't even known, not when she needed him so badly.

He had vowed, at their wedding, to care for her and cherish her and protect her and love her with all that he was, give her all he had to give, and he wasn't going to draw back now.

When she finally merely gulped and hiccoughed and sighed, the leftovers shaky, breathy convulsions of her hard crying leaving her weak and unresisting against him, he cradled her tenderly and gently forced her head up with the hand he'd cupped around her head, so he could look down at her face – now splotchy and shiny with the tracks her tears had made, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed, her nose just as red, but her mouth still trembled at the corners, and his heart turned over for her.

Never, never had he felt so much crushing, roaring love for her, the demons inside him quelled by the outright shout sprung by his innermost self, claiming her as his own, vowing that he would protect her and make her his, forever. Within him, welling from the innermost core of his being, sprung a newly-made promise which immediately transformed into hard resolve.

He would fight her fights for her.

He would sustain her and claim her and cherish her, memories or not.

He would give her all that she needed and more, the moon, if she asked for it, he would make her safe, he would crush into inexistence the invisible demons that tortured her and had been tormenting her for a long, long time, without anyone, much less him, noticing it.

She'd always been very, very good at hiding, though her lying was worth the sludge that caked the banks of the Thames. His resolve strengthened even more and he held her tightly, trying to convey his emotions to her in his embrace. He would not stop looking for her until he found her, and when he did , he would make her hurts all better, drive her fears out, tear into her demons until they could no longer touch her, and then he would whisk her home.

He will make this all better. This _will_ stop.

Her gaze was so vulnerable, so heart-breaking, so beyond desperate that he once more sought to calm her.

Taking her face into both his hands, he continued looking intently into her eyes, focusing on her, his own world, and he felt once more his very being growling, he will protect his own little world if it was the last thing he ever did. She was completely naked to him now, all her fears and worries bared to him for him to scrutinise, understand, then kiss away, soothe at welts until they hurt no more.

He brushed his fingers in an infinitely tender caress across her face, drying her tears, and then it seemed as though he was her anchor, no matter who they were, no matter where or when they were, and she gave herself to him fully, not holding anything back, surrendering.

Gene bent his head close to her face and kissed the tracks her tears had made across her cheek, then moved onto the other, repeating his actions, then he planted gentle kisses on her forehead, and two twin, butterfly kisses on her closed eyelids, then at the corners of her trembling mouth, and then … and then his lips met hers and she felt herself sinking into the mists of time, her body mindlessly floating in the trenches of the stuff galaxies were made out of.

His mouth was so hot, so gentle, so loving upon hers, she mewled, as though pained, at the sheer emotions it stirred in her.

She brought her own hands up to mirror his and held his face reverently above hers, her neck folded, head bent, in the oldest, basest, most powerful expression of feminine surrender.

It was everything they both had been craving for what felt like a whole lifetime, and it felt good, to not have any barriers or walls or lies or secrets that kept them apart.

She kissed him back as deeply as she could, and Gene took his time exploring the sweetness she offered him, his heart beating madly in his chest, the monster inside him roaring with approval, his soul crumbling in happiness as he held her, his life, close to him and felt her very essence touch his, fleetingly, as though meeting him for the very first time. Now he understood her reticence, and felt anew a wave of crushing love flood him. She would get to know him all over again, they would both get to know each other all over again, he exploring and remembering the shared intimacy they'd had which had lain dormant in him, but never forgotten, whereas she would map out all the crevices and lines and creases and secrets of his soul, getting to know them, him, for the very first time, and he would guide her, teach her, follow her and fuse his being with hers.

The kiss intensified and he caressed her throat and her jaw as his tongue dived into the deep recesses of her mouth and met with hers, duelling and contrasting and intertwining. Her breathing became laboured, closely matched by his, and she replied in kind by weaving her fingers through his hair, moulding to the shape of his head in a bid to bring him even closer.

He broke off the kiss and bent his head over her exposed throat, seeking out that spot behind her ear that drove her mad and made her shiver, gently nipping at it and worrying it with his soft, gentle lips.

Alex gasped in surprised delight, and went lax as his arms encircled her back and made her a ( very willing ) prisoner.

He bent her over his arms and softly began exploring her shoulders, her collar bone, her throat, the very top of her sternum, playing with the silky skin, his blood boiling and demanding release and closure all at the same time. Gene grazed her throat with his teeth then gently bit into the soft flesh, marking her as his own, and Alex gasped helplessly at the onslaught of a passion which was at both times weakness and strength, as it pulled her down, deeply down into a dark, dark, dimension, inky black and intense as the very passion welling up in her, which was matched by his own, and soothed by the small, luminous points of light across the black expanse, literally seeing stars.

Her moan sounded uncharacteristically loud to her own ears, and her eyes flew open momentarily in muted surprise, only to close languidly once more, gasping breathlessly as Gene's hot mouth travelled up her throat, ghosting over her chin, then once more reclaiming her hungry lips, drowning the little cries inside his mouth. He feasted upon her lips with renewed vigour and intensity, as though trying to swallow her whole, to grasp at something deep, deep inside her that she didn't even know had existed until now, and Alex felt even weaker yet stronger when an answering call resonated deep within her, trying and wanting to be found by his seeking hunger.

He felt the deep change in her and moaned joyously, utterly undone by the happiness that was threatening to burst clean from the region of his chest, cleaving him into pieces, and retaliated by literally falling upon her soft mouth with deep, biting kisses, revelling in her softness, in her essence.

This is where he truly belonged. This is where her home was, right there with him, and if she needed to simply be shown that this was reality, this was the true state of things, then he would make this the most thorough investigation either of them had ever carried out.

"Gene." Her whispered, breathy sigh made him want to seek more, to feel more, and have her do the same.

He pulled away ever so slightly, their lips still touching, and when he spoke, his lips brushed and pushed against hers as they moved. "Say it, Bolly. I want to hear you say it." He pressed and fitted his lips to hers fleetingly again and again, continuously coming back for more of the same, coaxing an answer from her.

"Is this real?" His tongue dove inside her mouth and languorously played with hers, and his fingers tightened on her back, slowly kneading at the muscles there, then rising up to ghost over the back of her neck.

He left her mouth and gently nuzzled at her cheek, his breath tickling her jaw.

"Is this a mere fantasy, Bolly?"

Gene nipped at her lower lip, his thumb tracing her face gently, her breathing laboured, his none-too-steady.

"Perhaps _this,_" he sucked at her lips then plundered her mouth anew, " is a fantasy."

Alex moaned and accepted all the attentions his mouth bestowed upon hers, as though she were a mortal paying homage to her god, a pagan higher being she wanted nothing more than to worship and feel every inch as worshipped and cherished in return. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, playing with the thin strap of her pyjama vest top, tracing the skin under it, tantalisingly slowly lowering it over her shoulder. His finger descended, caressing her breast, kneading its fullness.

"How real do you think this is, love?" His hot whisper played games upon her skin.

Alex moaned silently, wanting more, wanting to feel his naked, hot skin fused against hers, because, right now, it was as real as she wanted it to be, and that was enough. She tried to formulate coherent words, but his hot mouth was trailing a sensual path from her throat, licking at the slightly bruised flash it had bitten earlier as it went, down to her torso, then on the top of her left breast.

"Say it, Alex. Tell me how good this feels, and then tell me this isn't real, that it's all made up in your head."

"Gene…" was her breathless reply, the only thing she could manage as she flailed at the onslaught of sensations coursing through her veins in her very blood, revitalising her, bringing her back to life.

"Tell me, Bolly. Tell me how good I'm making you feel, and then tell me it isn't real. I want you to say it, sweetheart, just so we're clear and everyone knows where they stand. Say it!" He commanded, his tone harsh, belied by the gentleness of his touch, the loving traces of her body, the sensual dance his fingers weaved upon her heated flesh; it was in great contrast with the attention he gave her craving body, the tenderness with which he expressed his desire for her. If she had ever doubted that this man could truly love her and need her so much, she no longer felt the ghosting touch of that doubt, as her core shook with the understanding of the sheer depth of this man's feelings for her.

With a last conscious effort to retain that small modicum of coherency needed to give him a reply, she forced her mind to awaken from the sensual sleep it had gone into and put it to work.

"You. You're real, and alive, and here, Gene. This is not just a mere construct – nothing so, so … vivid could ever be anything but reality. You make me feel truly alive, like I don't need to fear death or being cold or closing my eyes," her eyes shone with tenderness and the inklings of a deep-seated, barely budding love.

"...you make me feel so safe. I don't need to fear this anymore, Gene. This is real to me."

"You're real to me."

Gene felt utterly undone and profoundly glad that he had made her see sense, had driven, at least for now, the very demons that shook her apart, and he, too, felt like she had just rocked his entire world, and set it on a completely different bearing. He kissed her once more, pouring all of his passion and happiness into the heated kiss, feeling elated as she gave as good as she got, answering him completely and fully. This was the lat barrier that needed to come down for them to finally become one, at long last. He pushed her until she was lying fully on the bed and followed her, kicking his shoes and his jacket as he went, and she was helping him, quickly opening the buttons of his shirt then pushing it off his shoulders, running her hands on his strong arms, then stealing across his chest, feeling a thrill of excitement course through her veins, the contact as electrifying for him as it was for her.

She scraped her nails lightly across the hairs on his pectorals, delighting in their unexpected firmness, but she wanted more.

Gene pulled his mouth away from hers and set to exploring the exposed flesh just above her top, then ran his hands along her flanks. His fingers sought and found the lace-edged trim of her top and smoothly dived under the material, running his hands as thoroughly as possible across her firm, hot stomach, then up, up to knead and caress and cup her breasts. The mewling little cries of pleasure she give were like music to his starved ears and he chanced a look into her face, his own traced by a heated passion and burning intensity.

Alex's face was languid and relaxed, that pink mouth slightly agape on a breathless gasp, her eyes, almost completely closed, gazing at him from under her lashes, sparkling like liquid pools of green.

He drew up and kissed once more that irresistible mouth, whilst his fingers squeezed and grazed her nipples, kneading the soft flesh, cupping her breasts reverently, and she had never found anything that felt as erotic as this, Gene kissing her as his hands ran under her top, playing with her breasts, stoking her inner fire anew with his heated, yet tender caresses. He pulled the encumbering top off her and left her upper body exposed to his burning, hungry gaze, his eyes seeking the body they had known like the back of his hands. He placed a gentle, hot kiss to her throat then moved lower. Alex hugged him to her and felt an electrifying shock race up her body as their naked chests met in a heated embrace, moulding curve by curve, a perfect fit. Her heart threatened to rise in her throat when, after a brief pause, he softly licked at one nipple, before drawing it inside his mouth, sucking at the tip and grazing it with his teeth as though driven by a deep craving.

She arched against him, offering more to his mouth, and he acknowledged her gift by kneading the other breast with his hand. Her murmurings of pleasure reached his ears and Gene smiled victoriously, but he was nowhere near done with her just yet.

He left her for a couple of seconds and when he returned he had shed his trousers, leaving his boxers on. His fingers traced the edge of her pants and she placed her hands on top of his, guiding them where she wanted them. They both worked to push her pants down her legs, but Gene took his own time abut removing the obstructing garment, sweeping his hands across her thighs and calves as he uncovered them, then once her pants were slipped off her feet, repeating the process, slowly.

Alex gasped at the delicious sensation, and when he inserted a knee between her thighs, she immediately complied and opened her legs to accommodate his weight. As soon as he was fully settled upon her, she bent one of her legs to rub wantonly against his flank. He bent low over her and they shared their most passionate kiss yet, lips merging and melting together, tongues meeting, duelling and intertwining together, stroking each other. Alex let her hands caress his strong shoulders, play with the hair at the nape of his neck, running down the bulging muscles in his arms, then kissing his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, nuzzling at his throat and inhaling the smell that was uniquely him, and with which she had come to associate warmth and safety more and more, her heart beating erratically, his just as madly.

"Gene…" her breathless, husky little cry brought his focus to attention. With that single word she had managed to convey exactly what she wanted and the very depths of her feelings, and he exulted, feverishly kissing her throat again, one hand exploring the curve of her hip, the other running along the long length of her leg, twined around his back in a sensual invitation.

His reply was soft, but filled with the aware intensity he was feeling as the air became charged more and more with sexual tension.

"I know…"

When he finally entered her, they both stilled, his breathing hitched by the effort it took him to remain controlled, hers broken by whispered little cries and mewls of pleasure that drove him wild. Their union could not have been more complete as they rocked against each other, Gene kissing her shoulder, her neck, her mouth, as he went deeper and faster. A sudden urge to see her expression drove him to rise up slightly as he continued making love to her, and the wide eyes looking at him with such burning, pure intensity made him come undone, all due to the sheer physicality of her expression as the pleasure spun and wove a magical, intimate web around the two lovers, and to her, it was like coming home, at last, like falling down, down from that inky black sky she had seen only to be caught into his fiery embrace and sink with him through to ageless seas and pure depths.

Gene could not recall a time where they had made love that was as sensual, as meaningful or as emotional as this, as he groaned against her mouth, swallowing her frantic little cries as their release loomed near.

Their movements built up in intensity and speed, their mutual cries loud and unchecked. When Alex neared her orgasm her moans mingled with her cries of pleasure and she repeated his name over and over again, she was answered by growls of possession and groans of pleasure as he worked them to higher planes of pleasure. At the very, very peak of her pleasure, Alex opened her eyes in ecstasy and looked directly above her, where his own looked her with burning intensity as though he wanted to see through to her very soul. The sheer physicality and intimacy of that gaze, his face contorting in an indescribable pleasure rocked her to the core and sent spiralling into a mindless orgasm. As her inner walls clenched and rippled with the force of her orgasm Gene followed her into the mindless dive, groaning and breathing harshly in her ear.

He murmured tender, loving words to her, soothing her, whispering a broken "Alex…" into her ear as they floated for the longest of impossible times then gently descended back down to earth.

Gene cradled her against his satiated body, holding her close, and she folded herself willingly against his large body, their lower limbs tangling in the aftermath. Her breath puffed gently as she nuzzled at his throat like a kitten, deeply breathing in his musky scent. He stroked her hair and rested his chin on top of her head, his eyes closing languidly. He was finally at peace, a calm, deep, cleansing peace, the likes of which he had never known. She raised her head a tiny bit and they looked deeply into each other's eyes, conveying a message only lovers could share after such an encounter, when they were spent and satiated. His face was unlined and peaceful, his eyes openly glowing down at her, his breath quieting down as his heart rate returned to normal. Her own eyes, heavy-lidded and languid glimmered as she quietly stared up at him, her entire visage softened as she too found an unfamiliar peace, as she felt safety the likes of which she'd never known, and this was reflected by her open, unguarded face, soft and gentle and almost adoring, the look of a woman in love.

* * *

**A.N: Please don't forget to review! Ta.**


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